


Downpour (Can't You Hear Me Calling Your Name?)

by KittyCatriona (War_Worn_Lipstick)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Soulmate AU, as slow a burn as you can get in 4k words I'm laughing, sadness/depression, so typical of me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 12:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7845031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/War_Worn_Lipstick/pseuds/KittyCatriona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe where you're aware of the physical pain your soulmate is suffering, and where you can choose to share their pain or take their pain away entirely to ease their burden, Dan Howell feels guilty and ashamed. How could he ever be good enough for someone so kind, someone so compassionate? And what happens if they never meet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downpour (Can't You Hear Me Calling Your Name?)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, I hope you like this. I'm quite proud. Also I LOVE soulmate aus, why is this the very first one I've ever written???

Caught under a tree in a park in the rain, I find myself wondering if anyone can survive past twenty. I mean survive survive. Make it out without killing some part of themselves. I don’t know why I’m thinking about it in the rain, but I guess I don’t really have anything better to do.

Originally, I had thought I’d remain dry beneath this tree. It was doing a good job at first. The rain has since picked up, though, and as droplets fall increasingly quickly onto the back of my neck and onto my jacketless arms, I wish I’d found sounder cover. It’s cold. Dully, I notice my soulmate is cold, too. I want to help them, but I don’t feel strong enough. I don’t have a jacket. 

And then suddenly, for me, it’s less cold, and I feel terribly guilty.

Now, under a tree in a park in the rain, I find myself thinking, as I so often do, about my soulmate, a person so caring, so compassionate, that they constantly take my pain, even when they’re suffering themselves. I think about how I rarely take their pain.

I think about how, maybe, if they took less of my pain, I could have survived past twenty. I wouldn’t have felt as guilty, as useless. I may have maintained a semblance of myself. 

I wonder if my soulmate has maintained a semblance of themselves. They still help me almost constantly, so they couldn’t have become too jaded. Maybe they’re not even twenty yet. 

I want to give them something, suddenly. I want to help them in some way. I want them to know I appreciate them. But there’s nothing I can do, so I just stand, slightly less cold, under my tree in the park in the rain. 

Louise, my friend from work, talks about how she wants to meet her soulmate so she’ll have someone to talk to, so she’ll finally feel like she belongs, so she can fall in love with the knowledge that it will last. 

That’s all well and good. I guess I want that, too. I want to feel safe, too.

The main reason I want to meet my soulmate, though, is so I can thank them.

“I wouldn’t have made it so far without you,” I would say. “I’m only standing here because of you.” 

But the _statistics_ say I won’t ever meet them. Or, if I do, I won’t notice that I have.

I bow my head and sigh. I’ve basically accepted a lifetime of solitude, of relationship insecurity. I mean, I’ve already been dumped in favor of a newly discovered soulmate once—maybe it’ll hurt less next time. 

“No jacket, huh?” a voice says, and it reminds me oddly of Christmas.

I look over but don’t really register the man before me. He has wet black hair and a red bomber jacket, but beyond that I’m blind. When I speak to strangers, I don’t focus well. 

“Didn’t think I’d need one.” I force a smile. 

“That’s foolish,” he laughs. “This is London! Are you not from around here?”

I frown and ignore his question. “What are you doing?”

“What?”

“I mean, why are you talking to me?” I face front again. I don’t mean to be rude. I really don’t. But I’m sad and damp, so I just want to be alone with my thoughts. And the rain. There’s something intimate about being alone in the rain. 

“Sorry,” the man says. “I’m just taking shelter. You looked lonely.”

“Lonely? No,” I scoff. “Just wet.” 

“You’re like the Sahara compared to me.”

I look at him again, this time with curiosity, and he is very, very wet. But more importantly, what kind of man continues talking, joking even, to a stranger who is downright rude?

As if he read my mind, he adds, “I’m not leaving this tree until the rain stops, so I figure pleasantries are in order.” He looks away, and as my rudeness really catches up to me, he sighs and adds, “Or, I guess, if I’m really, really bothering you, I can find a different tree.”

I sigh too. “No, it’s fine. You’re fine. I’m sorry.”

“You’re cold,” he says. “I get it. There’s no need to apologize.”

“Yeah,” I say rather lamely. 

“I’d offer you my jacket, but it’s soaked. Also I’m already taking some chill off of my soulmate, so.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “How long do you think the rain will keep?”

“Hopefully not too long. I’m planning a coffee date.” 

“Good for you,” I say, and I honestly mean it. I’m endlessly impressed with people who actively seek relationships. The one relationship I’ve been in, when the girl left me for her soulmate, had sort of fallen into my lap. 

“You’ve anywhere to be?” he asks. 

I think for a moment. I’d kind of wanted to go to the grocery store, pick up some microwavable dinners, but now that I’m wet, I really just want to head home. I can curl up, watch _Jurassic Park_ —a movie I typically watch in the rain—and drink hot cocoa. Perhaps make some popcorn, as well. 

“No,” I say. “Just my flat.”

“So, hypothetically, you’d be free to join me for coffee.” 

I can’t help but glare at him. “You said you have a date.”

“No, I said I was planning to have one. Optimistically. Would you like to?”

“To have coffee with you?” 

“Yes,” he nods. 

“I don’t understand,” I say, and the man cocks his head to the side. “I’ve been nothing but rude to you.” 

“Hardly,” he says. “Besides, you’re cute enough that I’ll excuse your behavior. Just this once, though.”

“I don’t think so,” I say. “But, well, thanks for the offer.”

He nods. “I understand. Too bad, though.”

“Rain is letting up,” I say, because I need the subject to change.

“Oh, nice.” 

We fall into silence, both of us watching the rain taper. A leaf bobbing along in the sidewalk’s run-off catches my eye, and I watch it until it gets caught on a few small rocks. 

“I’ll be going, then, I think,” the man says.

I nod to him. “Pleasant speaking to you.”

He gives me a knowing look and steps out from under the tree. The rain is but a mist, now. “I’m sure,” he says, and then he smiles. “Have a good day. Stay warm.”

~

The weekend passes in that sort of long, disjointed way that leaves you thinking you hadn’t had a weekend at all. I emerge from my house for the first time since the rain feeling exhausted and a bit uncomfortable in my own skin, but work is work and I have to go. 

Halfway through my day, after having filed almost a week’s worth of reports, my soulmate suddenly experiences sharp pain in their back and right elbow. I assume they’d fallen, or something similar. 

“You okay, Dan?” Louise, who works in the desk beside mine, rolls her chair over. “You look a bit tense.” 

I sigh. “Soulmate just got hurt. I should probably help him, huh?”

Louise shrugs. “It’s up to you. My soulmate got sick last weekend, had a nasty sore throat, and I didn’t do a thing about it.”

“Yes, well,” I say, “he also didn’t help you when you got sick, so it makes sense. My soulmate always helps me.”

“It’s not like you owe her anything, though.” 

I frown. I don’t want to say what I’m really thinking. “Maybe not,” I say instead.

A minute later, when Louise leaves to the bathroom, I take all of my soulmate’s pain. 

On my lunch break I go to a nearby coffee shop, a personal favorite. They have delicious soup and salad, and their macchiatos are to die for. I’ve just gone inside and gotten in line when someone says, “Hey!” quite loudly. I assume they’re not talking to me (few people ever are) and continue to stare pointedly ahead, until the same voice says, “Rain boy!”

I look over then to see the man with the black hair, from the other day, waving me over from an otherwise empty table. I smile at him as well as I can, and then I motion to the line in front of me, hoping he understands that for one, I don’t want to leave the line, and two, don’t necessarily want to sit with him. 

He’s cute, admittedly, but there’s no point in starting a relationship that will end in disappointment.

Also, I’m in a bit of pain and would much prefer to sit at one of the many couches or armchairs. 

When I finally get my food and macchiato, I turn opposite the man and make my way to an empty couch. Hopefully he’ll think I just forgot to sit with him, and not that I’m rude. 

I finish my salad and am halfway through my soup when I feel the couch sag beneath me. 

The man has seated himself about two feet away. He isn’t looking at me. He has a coffee mug in one hand and he’s chewing his lip.

“Look,” he says. “I know we got off to a kind of weird start, and you’re probably not interested in me at all, but I think you're really, really attractive, and I wanted to try one last time before writing you off.” 

I look at my spoon. The silver is tarnished, slightly, near the handle. “What are you suggesting?” I ask.

The man shrugs slightly. “Coffee, sometime, or maybe dinner.” 

I purse my lips. “I like dinner.”

His mouth switches into a tight smile and I want to tell him, No, don’t get your hopes up. 

“Are you free tonight? Or is that too soon?”

I put my spoon in the soup and swirl it. “Depends what we’re eating, I’d say.”

“Hmm,” he says, and I can tell he’s trying to keep a smile from his face. He’s too perky, really, too enthusiastic. I don’t understand where he gets that. “Italian?” he asks. 

I pretend to mull it over. “I think I’m free in a couple of weeks.”

“Oof,” he says, and then he laughs. The noise, which is inviting and charismatic, brings a smile to my face. “How ‘bout Chinese?”

“Oh, wait,” I say. “Actually, I think I might be free tonight after all.”

The man grins. “Lovely,” he says. “I’m Phil.”

He holds out his hand, and I have to set down my spoon to shake it. “Dan,” I say. 

“It’s lovely to meet you, Dan.”

I narrow my eyes. “Two times is too many times to say ‘lovely’ in a span of ten seconds.” 

“Perhaps you’re just not lovely enough,” Phil says.

“Maybe not,” I say.

~

Phil and I only speak about five minutes longer before we exchange numbers and I go back to work. The rest of the day passes quickly, and as I’m packing up to leave, admittedly more rushed than usual, Louise says, “What, got a hot date tonight?”

I smirk at her and say nothing. 

“Oh my gosh,” she gasps. “You do! You have a date!”

I shush her. “Keep your voice down.”

“What?” she laughs, “why?” And then, louder, she says, “Everyone! Guess what!”

“Shut up!” I say, laughing slightly. A few people look over at us. 

Louise goes on. “The elusive Dan Howell has a date! Who knew he’d even _speak_ to someone outside of work!”

“Hey,” I frown. “I’m not like that. I talk to people.”

Louise raises her eyebrows. “Do you? Do you really?”

“Well, I—” I pause and my frown deepens. “Occasionally,” I get out eventually. 

She laughs. “Really, though. What’s she like? How’d you meet?”

“Well, actually—”

“Wait, is she your soulmate?” Louise’s eyes get huge.

“No,” I say. “No, not my soulmate.”

“Oh,” she says, and I watch all the interest drain from her eyes. “Well, have fun!”

I want to ask “is that all?” but don’t. 

I grab my bag and leave, and as I’m walking home, I text Phil and cancel our plans. He replies immediately with a frowny face, and then a few seconds later, asking, “Maybe some other time?” 

I don’t respond.

That night, as I try to open a can of corn, I cut my finger. My soulmate doesn’t take the pain, or even help at all. 

~

Phil is at the coffee shop again the next day, and when I see him, I almost forego my lunch break. I figure, though, with how awful I’ve been treating him, I could at least sit with him for a while. Who knows, maybe we could become friends. 

So I walk over, putting on a hopeful expression, and tap his shoulder. He looks up from a novel. 

“Oh,” he says. “I didn’t expect to see you.”

“Yeah,” I say, and I set my bag down. 

“Ever,” Phil adds. 

“Sorry about last night,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Go get some food and we can talk.”

“Alright.”

Five minutes later I’m sitting down beside him, and he smirks at my meal. “Same as yesterday,” he nods. 

“Yeah. It’s really good.”

“You like routine,” he says, and it isn’t a question. “Or, maybe, you’re afraid of change.”

I shovel a fork-full of spinach into my mouth so I don’t have to respond. 

“Are you waiting for your soulmate or something?” he asks, and part of me wants to run away. 

“No,” I say after swallowing. “Well…” I consider my answer. “No. No, I’m not.”

“You sound uncertain,” Phil smiles and then takes a sip of his coffee.

“I’m not waiting,” I say. 

“When was the last time you dated?” he urges. 

I sigh. “Okay. I hate the stigma around this, you know? People who wait are foolish prudes, and people who don’t are selfish assholes. It’s 2016—why the double standards?” 

Phil frowns. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I take a deep breath and a sip of coffee. “Sorry. No, you’re fine. It’s just ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Phil agrees. “If you’re waiting, that’s fine. I won’t be upset. But if there’s something else going on, please, can you tell me? I don’t understand your indecisiveness.” 

I shrug, but Phil doesn’t go on, so I have to put together an actual answer. “I’m not waiting. Or, at least, I don’t think I am. I didn’t used to. But I had a really great girlfriend who dumped me when she met her soulmate. Makes it sort of difficult to start a new relationship when you fear it’ll end.” 

Phil’s eyes are sincere. “There’s fear in any relationship, Dan. Friends, family—part of the joy of having close relationships is knowing both parties are working to hold each other together.”

“But what if one of them isn’t doing that?

“Then the relationship isn’t healthy, and it’s probably not worth it anyhow.” 

I stab my fork into my salad. “How can you tell if any relationship is worth it?”

Phil laughs and it startles me. “It’s called ‘taking risks,’ Dan. Never making new friends for fear of them not working out is, like, never getting a cat simply because you know one day it will die.”

I frown. “That sounds like a good enough reason to me.” 

Phil rolls his eyes. 

~

My lunch break ends and I go back to work. Louise asks how my date went, and I give her a few vague, boring details to satisfy her. Just as I’m walking out of the building, I get a text.

It’s Phil. “Dinner @ Kambie?” 

I steady myself, and then I tell him yes. 

~

Dinner goes well. The food is good, Phil is kind and funny, and it turns out we have a lot of common interests. 

One conversation in particular stands out to me. I don’t know how we get on a conversation about soulmates again, but it happens, and I learn something new. 

“Do you ever feel your soulmate’s sadness?” Phil asks. 

“Their sadness?” I sniff. “No, never.”

“Oh,” he says. “I do sometimes.”

“What’s it like?”

“It’s horrible. I didn’t know someone could be so sad.”

“Huh,” I say. “Can you help them? Like with the pain?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. But I looked it up a couple years ago, and people say that if you can feel your soulmate’s emotions, then you have an extra strong bond.”

I smirk at him. “Well, well. Good for you.” 

He looks down at his plate. “I don’t think I’ll ever meet them,” he says. 

“Why not? There’s no way to tell.”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I just feel that way.”

And for a brief moment, I swear I feel that my soulmate is sad. It’s gone too soon to tell, though, and Phil and I go on talking, off the topic of soulmates. 

~

He walks me home and hugs me goodnight. 

“No kiss?” I ask.

He tugs on my jacket. “No kissing on the first date,” he says, to which I scoff. “Besides,” he adds, “I still can’t tell if you like me or not.”

“Only time will tell,” I smile. 

~

I think about those conversations, later that night, as I watch some French drama with subtitles and a beautiful piano soundtrack. It’s horrible, because the main character’s soulmate died before they met, and she just wants love, but the woman she’s in love with has already paired off. At the end, I cry, and I wonder if somewhere out there my soulmate can feel that I’m sad. 

~

It’s raining the next day, downpouring really, and as I stare out my kitchen window I cannot comprehend that somewhere in the world there is a person made exactly for me. It’s accepted as fact, but for some reason, today, it won’t compute in my mind. The world is too big, I am too miserable, and for once I do not believe that even a single person could love me for me. 

I call in sick to work. Louise sends me a “feel better soon:(” text.

It takes me a few hours and many cups of coffee, but eventually I make myself something to eat. My soulmate is cold, but I don’t bother to help them. I’m sitting down with my fork in hand when there’s a knock on my door. 

I check my phone and see that it’s a little after the time of my usual lunch break, but that doesn’t give me any idea of who could possibly be at the door. When I go and look, I’m surprised to see a very wet Phil. He seems distressed, and I let him in.

“What’s up?” I ask after I get a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He shakes his head, and raindrops fall from his hair. 

“I was hoping to see you at the coffee shop, but you never came.”

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry. I stayed home from work today.”

“That’s what I figured,” he says with a shiver. “Are you sick?”

I shrug. “Just didn’t feel like going in.”

Phil nods. “I get that.”

We sit in silence for a while, and I feel like Phil wants to say something but I don’t know what it could be. We listen to the rain against my windows and in the streets, and I’m reminded of the first time Phil and I met.

I’m about to say something about that, perhaps apologize against for being so rude, when Phil says, “I’m worried about my soulmate.”

For a second I feel sorry for neglecting my own soulmate, who is still cold. I take a tiny bit of it away and I wonder if they could even notice a difference. 

Phil shivers again and I wonder how much his soulmate helps him. 

“Why?” I ask, and it’s a little delayed.

“They’re sad. Like really, really, sad.” 

I sigh. “We all get sad sometimes.” 

“I don’t,” Phil says. “I mean, I do, but never like they do.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to do.”

Phil looks dejected. “I don’t either, honestly. Can you just, I don’t know, be here?”

I nod before I can help it, and then I move closer to him and wrap my arm around his shoulders. 

He leans against me, and then something starts weighing on my mind. I try not to think about it, but as our time passes in silence, it just gets louder and louder, until it’s like thunder in my ears, and then suddenly I’m speaking and everything is quiet again. “I don’t think we’ll work out, Phil.”

He pulls back instantly to look me in the eyes. “What? Why?” 

I shrug. 

“No,” he says, “why?”

“I get sad too, you know. I took work off today because I’m so sad.” I keep going, struggling to hold contact with Phil’s pale, wide eyes. “This is why relationships outside of perfect matches don’t work, you know? You’re always going to value your soulmate’s pain over mine, and I’m always going to put my soulmate before you. It won’t work out.”

Phil stares at me, and stares at me, and it’s too much, so I look away, and he just keeps staring. “Please,” I eventually choke. “Just say something. Convince me I’m wrong, if you want.”

There’s pain, very suddenly, on my upper arm, strong and firm and stinging, and it takes me a second to realize Phil has pinched me. 

“Ow,” I say, slapping his hand away. “What the fuck was that for?”

Phil is grinning, then, full-faced and childlike, and in that second I despise him, hate him, simply for being who he is.

“Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t look it. “Dan, I won’t value anyone over you. I promise.”

“Don’t lie,” I growl, cradling my arm. “It’s the truth.”

And then he’s kissing me, and as soon as that fact processes in my mind, I shove him away. “What the fuck,” I say, jumping to my feet. “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?”

He stands too. “Dan,” he says, and he’s bouncing on his toes. “Dan,” he says again. 

“What?” I spit.

Phil’s grin widens, and I watch in agitation as he pinches his arm. 

My jaw drops, and I look at Phil. 

“No,” I say.

He nods excitedly. “Yeah,” he says.

“No fucking way,” I say. “Do it again.”

He pinches himself again, and my hands cover my mouth. 

“Kiss me,” I say. “Again. Kiss me again.” 

Phil doesn’t need to be told a third time. He strides forward, pulling my arms down and pinning them to my sides, pressing his lips against mine and letting me feel him. He moves against me and it’s like heaven sent, warm and happy and _living_. He smells like Christmas.

When he pulls away, he doesn’t go far. He releases one of my arms so he can brush my hair aside. I clutch at his t-shirt, which is still slightly damp from the rain, and lean my forehead against his. 

“I knew I wasn’t an idiot for chasing after you,” he whispers. He puts his arm around me. “Even though you were rude.”

“I thought you let that slide because I’m cute,” I whisper back, stifling a laugh.

“That too,” he says, and then he pulls me into a hug. 

~

Later that night, when Phil and I are curled up on the couch watching _Jurassic Park_ —apparently Phil, too, always watches it when it rains—he asks, “Why were you sad?”

And I reply, “Same reason as always. Scared I’d be forever alone.”

Phil nuzzles against my neck, and I sigh. “You won’t ever have to be sad again,” he says.

“Unless you die,” I say before I can help it, and Phil snorts. “Or get sick of me.”

“Well, neither of those things will ever happen.”

“You’re never going to die?”

He laughs. “I intend to live forever.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to live forever too, huh?”

“Yup,” he says. He sits up to kiss my cheek. “Forever and ever.”

“Shut up,” I say. “This is the best scene.”

Phil’s quiet for only a second. “I actually like ‘Raptors in the Kitchen’ more,” he says. 

“No,” I gasp. “No way. Relationship over. Get out.”

“This is where we part?” he squeezes me tight. “Who knew it would come to this?”

“No, but actually,” I say, “shut up.”

Phil kisses my cheek once more, and then he settles in beside me. 

I realize, as I watch a tyrannosaurus destroy a safari car, that I feel like I’m alive in a way that I haven’t been in years.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! tell me your favorite scene in jurassic park lol it's my favorite movie ever. I'll love you like i love jurassic park if you comment:)))


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